


It's Hard to Say

by Auber_Gine_Dreams



Category: NCT (Band), SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Casual Sex, Drug Use, Hospitals, Implied Overdose, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Self-Harm, Strangers to Lovers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting, past gyuhao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-15 03:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auber_Gine_Dreams/pseuds/Auber_Gine_Dreams
Summary: “You should come home with me,” Sicheng says. The minute the words leave his mouth he wants to take them back because he doesn’t mean them the way Minghao will take them. Minghao’s eyes are warm and dark and he tilts his head to the side like he’s seeing Sicheng for the first time.Minghao leans in, his lips hovering by the shell of his ear.“Will you help me forget?”-or-Minghao meets Sicheng as his life is falling apart and Sicheng tries to put the pieces back together.





	It's Hard to Say

**Author's Note:**

> To me, Nails/Tacks is a song about addiction, about sickness and bitterness and wanting someone or something to make everything go away as your life falls apart. In the summer of 2007 Fever was pretty much the only album I listened to, and this song in particular has always held a special place in my heart.
> 
> Fic wise, I took some parts of the song more literally than others. And for you real Panic snobs I also used a bit from the demo version :D I hope you like how I interpreted things, so strap in for a story about death, coping, and a little about love. And please PLEASE heed the tags! 
> 
> There's also a [fic playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1to7c0meUKx9Gj5z4mNAk2?si=cwErFhieQI6gs51t6vFNzA) which you don't HAVE to listen to but...I think it sets a really nice mood <3

Minghao’s hands are in his hair again. He’s been tugging on his bangs periodically for the past thirty minutes, or maybe it’s been longer. He’s sort of lost track of time. If they aren’t in his hair then they’re shaking, and he really doesn’t want anyone to see that.

The surgery waiting area is painted a faded sky blue that’s probably supposed to be calming but just makes him think of his ex boyfriend’s shirt that’s still tucked away in his closet. Mingyu left a lot of things behind, shirts and CDs and a hole the size of his fist in Minghao’s chest, still raw and tender, so maybe he doesn’t have to give anything back. He hasn’t really thought about it too hard. His time is limited, these days.

The guy next to him crosses his legs and it draws Minghao’s attention out of his own thoughts. He can’t remember how long the guy has been sitting there, but he knows they haven’t spoken to each other. His hair is black and wavy, bangs just above his eyebrows, and he’s got the most interesting eyes Minghao has ever seen. Their color is warm but the feeling is cold, like he’s keeping something locked away. Minghao gets that, especially here. Everyone in the hospital has some kind of secret, some pain hidden from prying eyes. He’s never been the kind of person to spill his guts to a stranger either way.

He hates hospitals. He didn’t at first. He started out feeling hopeful, glad every time he walked in, but after nearly a year he just dreads it. The guy turns to him and gives him a smile with one corner of his mouth. His lips are incredibly full and Minghao feels like he’s staring a little too long when the guy finally speaks.

“Are you waiting for a friend?”

His voice is warm, lower than Minghao expects it to be. He’s really attractive, and a small part of him wishes this meeting were anywhere but a hospital waiting room.

Minghao shakes his head.

“I’m here for my cousin. She’s having a pretty complicated procedure done. It’s going to be a few more hours before they finish up.”

The guy nods, and Minghao makes the snap decision to keep talking.

“What about you? Friend or family?” he asks, and the guy turns his body toward Minghao a little more, like he’s grateful for the conversation.

“My friend tore his ACL. He’s getting it repaired. He doesn’t have any family close by so I came with him instead.”

Minghao lets out an _ah_ of sympathy. He’s the only family Xiu Ying has. They’re all they have. That’s why he’s here, has been here since the first appointment.

“I hope your friend has a quick and easy recovery,” Minghao says. He holds out his hand. “I’m Xu Minghao.”

The guy takes his hand. It’s as warm as the smile that ghosts across his lips.

“I’m Dong Sicheng,” he says, “It’s nice to talk to someone for a little while.”

Minghao likes the way Sicheng speaks. The words roll off his tongue in a way that makes Minghao think of taking summer trips as a kid, and he has to stop himself from asking Sicheng anything too personal.

“It is,” Minghao agrees, letting his hand linger in Sicheng’s just a bit before tucking it back into his lap. Now that his hands have left his hair they’re shaking again, so he squeezes them in the space between his thighs to keep them out of sight. “Most of the people here don’t want to talk. Not every surgery is guaranteed to fix what’s wrong.”

Sicheng’s eyebrows furrow and he opens his mouth like he wants to ask the question Minghao is dreading, but he glances at his hands and nods instead. Minghao breathes out a sigh of relief. He doesn’t want to say it out loud if he doesn’t have to.

But there’s something about Sicheng. Maybe it’s his eyes. He keeps glancing at Minghao like he wants to ask, like he wants to hear what’s brought him to the hospital today.

Minghao is a private person. He always has been. He’s only ever had Xiu Ying, and he’s had Junhui since first year of university, but not even his roommate knows everything that’s bouncing around in his head all the time.

Minghao’s got a therapist too, at the insistence of his cousin and her case manager, but he’s been skipping sessions. He doesn’t have time. It’s not really helping anyway.

It slips out before Minghao has time to dwell on what he’s saying.

“My cousin has cancer. They’re trying to cut the tumors out of her esophagus, but even if they remove them all and stop the spread she probably won’t be able to talk again.”

Sicheng reaches out and rubs his knee but his hand doesn’t linger.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope that the surgery is as successful as it can be.”

People love to drown cancer patients and their families in hope. Hope is a word Minghao never wants to hear again, but Sicheng doesn’t quite offer him hope. Sicheng gives him an honest kind of hope. It makes the corner of his mouth twitch up in a smile.

“Me too,” Minghao says softly.

They both go quiet again, but it’s a comfortable, almost familiar kind of quiet. Minghao isn’t pulling at his hair anymore and his hands aren’t shaking. He’s too busy thinking about Sicheng. He wants to ask him if he’s studying at university, how old he is, what he does when he’s not here, but just as he opens his mouth a nurse in surgical scrubs walks briskly into the waiting area.

She pulls her mask down to speak.

“Dong Sicheng?” the nurse calls, and Sicheng stands up a little too fast.

The nurse closes the distance between them, murmuring quietly to Sicheng. He sweeps his hair back out of his eyes and Minghao can’t help but stare at how handsome he is.

Sicheng is walking away with the nurse when he turns back to Minghao.

“It was nice meeting you, Minghao. Maybe we’ll see each other again some time.”

Minghao can feel his cheeks get hot. He nods a little too eagerly.

“Next time let’s make sure it’s not in the hospital,” he answers, and Sicheng smiles as he walks away.

Minghao is alone again, but he doesn’t mind as much. He’s still thinking about Sicheng an hour later, when the doctor finally comes out of surgery to tell him Xiu Ying’s status.

It makes the word _unsuccessful_ go down a little less like swallowing nails.

 

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

 

Sicheng is no stranger to this club. It’s his favorite in the area, close enough to campus that he can walk home but tucked away enough that he doesn’t see people he knows unless he invites them. His classwork is piling up and after listening to Ten whine for a week straight about how he’s never going to dance again (even though he will, an ACL tear isn’t the end of his career), he needs this.

He’s at the bar, drink in hand, observing the mass of bodies twining around each other on the dance floor. It’s different, watching people dance open and free. This is nothing like the dances he does on stage, and yet something about it is still mesmerizing. It’s during his scan that he spots the guy from the hospital, Myungho, maybe, or Minghao. Something close to that.

He’s pressed against the wall, covered almost completely by another guy whose mouth is attached to his neck. Sicheng’s eyebrows raise. He didn’t expect to see the guy again, especially not at a hole in the wall club. Yet here he is, black hair long enough that his eyes only peak through when he wants them to. He’s wearing tight jeans and a loose white button down shirt. Sicheng can see the eyeliner smudged around his eyes. His mouth makes an _oh_ of surprise and he shoves the other guy off him, who returns the favor before storming off. He sways on his feet, hand clutching a drink like it’s his lifeline, before he makes his way carefully over to where Sicheng is standing.

“It’s you,” he says when he’s close enough. A smile is spreading across his face, warm and hazy. Sicheng gives him a small smile in return. They’re still strangers, but Sicheng is used to meeting strangers here. That’s the point of coming to a club, after all.

“It’s you,” Sicheng echoes, taking a sip of his drink before continuing. “Minghao, wasn’t it?”

Minghao nods a little too fast and his drink threatens to slosh out of his cup. Sicheng’s hand goes to his shoulder automatically and he gets a lazy grin in return.

“Sicheng, right? You’re pretty _and_ you have a good memory,” Minghao says, and Sicheng can’t help but snort. His words are slurring together, and Sicheng wonders how many drinks he’s had before this one.

“You’re drunk,” he says.

Minghao steps just a little closer, close enough that Sicheng can smell his cologne underneath the sugary sweet alcohol in his cup. Minghao is pretty too, but Sicheng knew that from the moment he sat down in the hospital waiting room. His eyes are warm and his lips are just full enough to draw attention.

Minghao is pretty but Sicheng knows right away there’s something underneath. Some darkness that, as much as it’s a warning, draws Sicheng in. He’s always been attracted to darkness. It shows in his dance, in the string of lovers he’s left behind, in the way he can’t stop looking at the boy in front of him.

“That’s the point. Don’t wanna think anymore. Don’t wanna feel anymore unless I feel good.”

Sicheng smirks. “Is that what the guy earlier was for? To keep you from thinking?”

Minghao mirrors his smirk, and for a split second Sicheng feels like they’ve already seen everything there is to see about each other.

“Yeah, but you’re doing a _much_ better job.”

Sicheng frowns. He doesn’t know Minghao at all, but there’s a nagging at the back of his mind. Sicheng likes it, the darkness, the thrill of uncovering it if he says the right words. It’s not healthy, or at least that’s what his friends tell him. Sicheng can’t fix people, but sometimes he can trudge through the darkness and see what’s on the other side. That’s the part he likes best.

“How is your cousin?” Sicheng asks, and that turns out to be the right and wrong thing to say.

Minghao’s eyes widen before he squeezes them shut, brings his cup to his mouth and downs the rest of his drink. He takes a breath that shakes on the exhale.

“She’s terminal, for almost a year. She’s dying. I don’t want to think about it anymore. I can’t think about it.” His voice starts to shake at the end.

Sicheng is pretty sure he breathes out _Christ_ but Minghao doesn’t seem to notice. He sets his cup down on the bar and loops his arms around Sicheng’s neck.

Sicheng’s hands find his waist before he realizes what he’s doing. He doesn’t usually like people touching him, but Minghao is drunk and Sicheng doesn’t have the heart to push him away. Their bodies are pressed together from chest to thigh. Minghao is the same height as him, and the way their eyes meet makes something shiver down his spine.

Minghao is gorgeous, but he’s drunk.

“You should come home with me,” Sicheng says. The minute the words leave his mouth he wants to take them back because he doesn’t mean them the way Minghao will take them. Minghao’s eyes are warm and dark and he tilts his head to the side like he’s seeing Sicheng for the first time.

Minghao leans in, his lips hovering by the shell of his ear.

“Will you help me forget?”

Sicheng’s hands tighten on Minghao’s waist before he steps back. Minghao is looking at him with too much trust, like he’s used to following strangers home. Sicheng doesn’t even trust his own _friends_ like that.

He sighs and curls his fingers around Minghao’s wrist. He sets his half full drink on the bar and tugs just enough to get Minghao to follow.

He can feel Minghao’s heartbeat through the thin skin of his wrist, ignores the way Minghao brings his hand up to his mouth and kisses it. Minghao's lips are soft and cool against his hand. It’s distracting.

Sicheng gets them to his apartment as quick as he can, and he’s grateful that Minghao can pull off his own shoes without help. He leads Minghao to his bedroom and he lets out a breath when Minghao flops on the bed without pulling him to follow. He isn’t surprised to see his eyes slip shut the minute he’s situated under the blankets.

Sicheng pulls a spare blanket out of his closet and lays down on his couch. He’s awake for a long time thinking about the boy in his bed.

Sicheng thinks about Minghao’s cousin. He thinks about how Minghao is probably a university student like him. He thinks about what that means, and what the darkness in his eyes has to do with it all.

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

 

Minghao is dreaming. He knows it’s a dream because Mingyu will never kiss him again, not after the way they ended things. In the dream, he says that he understands how hard things have been for Minghao. Mingyu kisses him like he loves him and says that he doesn’t think Minghao is a walking disaster, that he’s not putting all this stress on himself. He knows Minghao isn’t shutting him out on purpose, that they love each other and that’s all that matters.

It’s all the things Minghao wanted Mingyu to say, and that’s how he knows it’s a dream.

He cracks his eyes open, and the pain that zips through his head makes him want to throw a pillow over his face. He doesn’t remember much from last night. He went to the bar. He drank. He drank a lot. He opens his eyes fully, squinting against the soft morning light. The bed he’s in is big. The comforter is soft and smells like laundry detergent. It’s not his bed.

That’s not surprising though. Minghao is no stranger to waking up in someone else’s bed. He even wakes up in Junhui’s bed sometimes. The difference is he’s always dressed in Junhui’s bed, head pillowed on his chest, a hand still in his hair. He’s dressed in this bed too, and that’s a little odd.

To say that Minghao is under a lot of stress is an understatement. When Xiu Ying was first diagnosed, he offered to move in with her, but she’d staunchly refused. He offered again when hospice came in, but she was even more insistent.

_‘It’s fine, Minghao. I have people here all the time now. My apartment is so small you’d probably just get in their way.’_

Her laugh was the soft tinkling of wind chimes and he hopes the sound stays burned into his memory for the rest of his life.

She wouldn’t let him drop out of university, said he needed the degree more than she needed money to cover hospital bills. He stayed for her, but he got a second job behind her back. He puts money in her bank account every two weeks. She thinks it’s from her parents’ trust, but Minghao knows _that_ money is long gone, that she’d be struggling without the little he can give her.

Minghao is a full time university student. He works two jobs. He dances with Junhui and some of their friends when he has time. He’s living his life in a weird limbo of rushed and stand-still, everything happening at warp speed yet halted because of his cousin’s diagnosis.

He has to do what he can for Xiu Ying, but sometimes it’s too much. Sometimes he ends up in Junhui’s bed, tear tracks dried on his face. And sometimes he ends up at a club, drinking until he blacks out and waking up in a strange bed in an apartment he doesn’t remember going to.

He waits until his headache is down to a dull throb before he gets out of bed. He doesn’t pay much attention to the room, doesn’t need to really. It’s not like he’ll ever be back here again. In the three months he’s been doing this, he has yet to go home with the same person twice. He isn’t sure what that says about him.

He makes it to the living room before he runs into the mystery person. Only it turns out they aren’t a mystery person at all.

“Oh, it’s you,” Minghao says just as Sicheng covers his mouth to muffle a yawn. He’s sitting cross legged on the couch, hair fluffy and tousled from sleep. There’s a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers on the coffee table in front of him. He’s got a mug in his hand and he turns to look Minghao up and down with an expression that makes him feel a little strange. It’s too close to pity to go down easy.

“How much of last night do you remember?” Sicheng asks carefully, and it’s then that Minghao begins to worry. Did he say something to Sicheng? Did he try to _sleep_ with him?

“I remember going to the club, but that’s it,” Minghao admits, his voice quiet. “If I did anything...inappropriate I’m sorry.”

Sicheng waves a hand in front of his face absently. Minghao puts a hand in his hair. He’s hot from his hangover. He’s flushed with embarrassment. He didn’t think he’d _actually_ see Sicheng again, and now Sicheng has seen him at his worst.

“Sometimes I drink more than I should. I’m...uh...I’m not usually that bad. Sometimes I just need to blow off steam, you know?”

Sicheng nods. Minghao feels like Sicheng is looking straight through him, down through all the walls he keeps up and into the very deepest parts of him. It’s unnerving but strangely comforting, like he doesn’t have to hide that his life is falling apart because Sicheng already knows.

He scoots the water and painkillers across the table so they’re closer to Minghao.

“I get it. Sometimes it’s nice to ignore life for a while,” Sicheng says. His tone is light, not as judgmental as Minghao expects it to be. He gestures to the cup and Minghao walks closer to take it from the table. “Is there anything else you like to do besides party?”

Minghao puts two of the pills in his mouth and chases them with half the glass of water before he answers.

“I dance when I have time. I’m in a crew at university.”

Sicheng’s eyes glitter with interest, his mouth blooming into a smile. He almost looks like a kid about to unwrap a present. It’s cute.

“What kind of dance? I’m studying Classical, but I do hip-hop and contemporary sometimes.”

He can see it now that it’s been pointed out to him. Sicheng is lean and strong, a dancer’s body. The way his legs are crossed tight and close to him hint at how flexible he is. Minghao feels his face get warm again.

“I do breaking, but I can do other styles if I have to. I’m not studying dance, though. It’s just for fun.”

Minghao sits on the arm of the couch and he loses track of how long he spends talking to Sicheng about dance. His eyes get fiery when he talks about it. Sicheng is so passionate it makes Minghao’s heart ache.

He can’t remember the last time he was excited about anything. It’s been too long.

“How is your friend doing?” Minghao asks after a while. “Did the surgery go well?”

Sicheng nods but his mouth pulls into a pout.

“He’s fine. He’s got a lot of physical therapy, but the doctors say he’ll be able to dance just as well as he did before the injury. He’s acting like a baby, though. It’s annoying.”

Minghao laughs at that, covers his mouth to muffle the sound. Sicheng’s lips twitch into a smile, and that’s when it hits him. Sicheng is beautiful. He wants to keep talking to him.

Minghao stands up and Sicheng is quick to join him.

“I’ve got to get home. My roommate is going to be worried if I’m not back soon,” Minghao says. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Would you like to meet up sometime? Maybe we can practice together?”

Minghao hates how hopeful his voice sounds. He shouldn’t be doing this. He doesn’t have time for this, but he doesn’t want to miss out on seeing Sicheng again.

Sicheng smiles and takes his phone from his hand. He punches in his number, calling himself so he’ll have Minghao’s number too. He walks Minghao to the door and it’s not as awkward as it should be.

“I’ll see you around. Take care of yourself, Minghao.”

Sicheng’s voice has a tinge of real concern, and it makes Minghao’s stomach knot. He forces himself to smile.

“See you,” he says.

He waits until he’s on the street to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes.

 

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

 

The end of the semester catches Sicheng by surprise in the way it always does, too much to do and not enough time to get it all finished without pulling at least one all-nighter. He hasn’t had time to do much besides text Minghao. Their schedules don’t synch up at all, and even though Minghao always texts back _it’s fine_ _don’t worry about it_ Sicheng can’t help but do just that.

It’s the night after his last final when his phone rings. Minghao’s name flashes across the screen and he smiles as he swipes to answer.

“Did you make it through all your finals?” Sicheng asks instead of saying hello.

_‘Have you seen Minghao?’_

Sicheng has never heard the voice on the other end of the phone. It has the same gentleness that Minghao’s does, but this person speaks higher, the accent different enough to be noticeable, the tone frantic but struggling for calm.

“Sorry, I haven't. Who is this?”

_‘Wen Junhui. Minghao is my roommate. I haven’t seen him in three days.’_

Sicheng stops in his tracks. People walk around him on the quad, but he can’t move. It’s like a still shot in a movie, but it’s not the movie he ever envisioned his life being.

 _‘Normally I wouldn’t worry, but he got some really bad news and he left his phone here,’_ Junhui continues. Sicheng’s feet finally start working again. _‘I’ve been calling everyone in his contacts to see if they’ve seen him. I’m really worried about him.’_

Sicheng has an idea of what the bad news is. It’s easy to put the pieces together. He wonders if Minghao has been trying to meet up with him because of it, and the thought sinks heavy in his gut. How long has Minghao been trying to cope before this?

“I don’t know where he is, but I’ll check a few places and let you know if I find him,” Sicheng says, and Junhui sighs into the receiver.

_‘Thank you. I’m going to keep calling people. I really...I hope you find him.’_

Sicheng thinks _me too_ as he hangs up the phone. He’s hardly Minghao’s friend, but he wants to be. He wants the chance to be.

He doesn’t even bother changing out of his sweatpants and hoodie as he walks in the direction of the club. He isn’t going there for fun, anyway.

Sicheng gets there twenty minutes later. His eyes are frantic, scanning each face, each dim corner for any sign of Minghao. Sicheng even asks the bartender, but the girl shakes her head. He’s heading back in the direction of the door when something catches his eye.

Someone is on the floor. There’s a guy hovering over the person, his hands yanking at their shirt like he’s trying to get them off the ground before he gives up and walks away. Everything narrows down to the black haired boy on the floor and Sicheng stops breathing.

He pushes through the crowd as fast as he can and kneels down to confirm what he already knows.

It’s Minghao. Minghao is here. Thank god.

Sicheng realizes right away that Minghao is more than drunk. He knows the kind of things people offer to a pretty face here, pills and powders and laced cigarettes. It’s never been his scene, but maybe Minghao likes that kind of thing. Or maybe Minghao is past the point of caring what goes into his body. He shakes Minghao gently, trying to get him more awake, more aware. He groans and his eyes crack open as he sits up.

Sicheng can see the moment Minghao recognizes him. His eyes go wide when clarity breaks through. His shoulders slump forward and he looks at the ground. It makes Sicheng’s chest tight, but he can’t worry about it. Instead, he pulls Minghao up to lean heavily against his side.

“Can you walk?” Sicheng murmurs next to Minghao’s ear. His voice sounds wrong somehow, like it’s not really his. Sicheng’s hands are shaking, but he takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself down.

Minghao’s head falls against his shoulder and he nods weakly. Sicheng slings an arm around his waist and he walks them slowly out of the club.

The night air is cool, but Minghao’s skin is fever hot through the thin fabric of his shirt. He wonders if Minghao has been at the club the entire time. Has he eaten? Has he had anything in the last few days that wasn’t alcohol and pills?

They only make it a block before Minghao’s head shoots off his shoulder and he vomits all over the sidewalk. Sicheng rubs his back and makes soothing noises. He hopes it helps. He’s relieved though, that Minghao is getting whatever he took out of his system. He can worry about the rest later, once he’s got Minghao back in his apartment. He can get Minghao some water and find out what he’s taken and get him to the hospital if he needs to go, even if he has to drag Minghao kicking and screaming.

He calls Junhui back while Minghao is still getting sick. He keeps a hand on Minghao’s back while he talks, partly to soothe him and partly because he’s afraid Minghao will slip away from him.

Junhui gives him rushed directions but he makes Sicheng repeat them back. Junhui’s voice gets thick as he hangs up the phone. Sicheng has been to the area they live a few times before. He’s confident he can get them there.

When Minghao gets up he’s crying, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. His hair is plastered to his face. His pupils are blown and he’s chewing on his lip hard enough that it’s going to bleed if he doesn’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His words are slurred. There’s something broken about them.

Sicheng can feel his heart crack like glass as he stares at this boy he barely knows. He fits Minghao back against his side, holding him as carefully as he can as they continue to head down the street.

Sicheng wonders in the quiet that follows if Minghao can be saved.

He wonders if Minghao _wants_ to be saved.

 

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

 

Minghao has never been as intoxicated as he is right now. He’s drunk. He’s so drunk he can hardly speak. He’s probably a little high too, but he’s not as familiar with the feeling to know for sure.

The last two weeks were a blur of studying for finals and being constantly on edge, waiting for a call from hospice telling him it was time. Every time his phone rang or chimed from a text his heart leapt into his throat, and even tentative plans with Sicheng that kept falling through couldn’t distract him from what was coming. When he finally got the call he ran the entire way to Xiu Ying’s apartment.

Xiu Ying squeezed his hand and forced a scratchy whisper from her throat before her eyes slipped closed. He can’t think about her words. They make the inside of his head feel like static.

He tried to sit at home, but that was worse. So he left. His phone is probably on his bed. He didn’t mean to leave it, but it slipped his mind the same way Xiu Ying’s hand slipped out of his when she took her last breath.

It’s funny, really. No one ever thinks they’re going to be here until they are.

He’s been bouncing between the club and strangers’ houses for a few days. He’s not sure how many. He missed his finals, probably. He missed his dance competition, too. Soonyoung and Junhui were going to hate him forever.

At some point he started taking pills. Blue pills and white pills and pink pills, different shapes and sizes and some kind of taste like candy. He doesn’t know what they are. He doesn’t really care.

It’s in this haze that Sicheng finds him. Sicheng. He keeps finding Minghao, and Minghao wonders why he’s bothering to look in the first place.

He hates that Sicheng keeps seeing him like this. Well, he  _would_ hate it if he could feel anything. At some point over the past few days he finally went numb. It’s euphoric in a way. He’s blissfully, wonderfully numb.

Sicheng hoists him up and asks him if he can walk. Minghao wants to tell Sicheng that he’s beautiful. He smells so good, like fresh laundry and some cologne that’s too expensive for Minghao to know the name of. He wants to tell Sicheng a lot of things, but he leans his head against Sicheng’s shoulder and nods instead.

Sicheng helps him out of the club and Minghao tries to keep it together, he really does. The air is cool and feels so good on his face, but he hears church bells in the distance and it makes him think of Xiu Ying and he gets as far away from Sicheng as he can before everything comes out of his stomach.

It burns, god it burns _so bad_ , but it kind of feels like what he deserves.

Sicheng’s hand on his back feels too good to be real. He feels sort of like he’s dreaming, but the taste of bile in his throat ruins the illusion. Sicheng’s hand keeps rubbing soothing circles into his skin and he hears him talking in a low voice. Minghao wonders if Sicheng hates him. They’re not friends, acquaintances at best. Minghao can’t stop being a train wreck long enough to give Sicheng a chance to like him.

Something hot is leaking down his face. He can feel the wetness, but he’s not sad. He’s too numb to be sad, right? Isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

Minghao stands up straight and he looks into Sicheng’s beautiful eyes, warm but cold, but right now they’re impossibly warm. They’re so warm it feels like they’re burning Minghao alive.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s not just Sicheng he’s apologizing to.

He’s sorry that he didn’t tell Junhui anything. He’s probably worried sick by now.

He’s sorry that Sicheng came to the bar tonight. He’s sorry that Sicheng found him. He still isn’t sure he wanted to be found.

He’s sorry that Xiu Ying felt like she needed to say those words to him, the last thing she ever said on earth.

Sicheng hoists him back up, presses him into his side, and Minghao can’t stop crying. He fades in and out, isn’t sure most of the time what’s coming out of his mouth, but he knows he’s talking because he can feel the words vibrate in his throat.

He hears himself say, “You’re so beautiful. You’re so nice. I wish I could love you. I want to love you, but I don’t think I can anymore.”

Sicheng’s arm tightens around his waist and Minghao hears the silence like a scream. Sicheng should get far away from him. If he was smart, and Minghao is _sure_ he is, he’d get as far away as he could.

Minghao is like a disaster. Everything he touches turns black and decays, and he didn’t think it was true at first, but Mingyu was the one that told him misery followed him around wherever he went. The only person he has left in his life is Junhui, and it’s only a matter of time before his best friend gets tired and leaves, too.

Sicheng is quiet, and it’s Minghao’s fear that makes the silence unbearable. He’s still losing little bits of time, but he recognizes the beige building of his apartment complex. Sicheng must have called Junhui, which means Junhui must have called Sicheng first.

“You should have left me,” Minghao says. The words come out bitter, harsher than he means for them to. He’s not mad at Sicheng.

He _is_ mad though, mad at someone.

He’s mad that Junhui picked a random number in his phone to call, and that Sicheng was the lucky person. He’s mad that Sicheng knew where to find him. He’s mad that Xiu Ying decided to die right before finals week. He’s so angry, now that he’s feeling again.

Sicheng helps him up the stairs and Minghao hears the tinkle of wind chimes. His stomach churns.

He hears her voice, a hoarse whisper that wasn’t really her voice. They cut away too much for her to ever use her real voice again.

_‘I love you, Minghao. You’re finally free.’_

He’s so angry, so incredibly angry that a part of him _does_ feel free.

 

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

 

Sicheng is thankful that Minghao still has his keys in his pocket. He pulls them out as delicately as he can, and only has to try two before he gets the door open. He sets Minghao on the couch, but he’s only there a minute at most before he stumbles down the hallway and into the bathroom. Sicheng really hopes it’s the bathroom because he can hear Minghao getting sick again. He sets the keys down on the coffee table and makes his way down the hall.

 

Junhui had been out looking for Minghao with his boyfriend and Sicheng had promised to look after Minghao so that he could spend the night away from the apartment. Junhui said he felt bad, but Sicheng had assured him it was alright. He doesn’t mind being here for Minghao. Junhui probably needs time to calm down, anyway. Sicheng is sure if his best friend pulled something like this he’d need some time to collect himself too.

The bathroom is surprisingly clean. It’s all white, but the curtain is a chocolate brown with pink flowers and the shower mat matches. It’s cute. Sicheng wonders which one of them picked it out. Minghao is kneeling over the toilet, his head propped up on his arm. He’s shaking, from cold or from being sick or who knows what.

“If I get you some water do you think you can drink it?” Sicheng asks, hopes his voice comes out level.

Minghao groans pitifully but he gives a weak nod. Sicheng grabs a cup off the bathroom counter and fills it with water. He kneels down and slides his hand through Minghao’s sweat damp hair. He’s shaking harder and Sicheng wonders if he should stop until Minghao leans into the touch.

It’s a few more minutes before Minghao lets his head up. He takes the cup that Sicheng offers him and rinses his mouth out a few times before drinking the rest. He flushes his sickness away and holds the cup out to Sicheng again. He won’t meet Sicheng’s eyes, but he understands. Minghao needs time, and Sicheng is more focused on making sure he’s physically okay. The rest can come later.

He stands up to get Minghao some more water, and he drinks it all in careful sips. He scoots back until he’s pressed against the wall and buries his head in his knees.

“I’m sorry,” Minghao says into his jeans. He’s not slurring anymore. It makes a knot loosen in Sicheng’s gut.

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Sicheng says, and he means it. He moves to sit next to him and cards his hand through Minghao’s hair again. He isn’t sure which one of them is more comforted by the touch.

“There’s so much inside my head. I have to keep it quiet. I have to make it go away. It _hurts_ ,” Minghao says. He leans into Sicheng’s hand again, and Sicheng can’t help but guide his head to rest on his shoulder. Minghao is still trembling, but it’s not as harsh and Sicheng feels a little more worry ease out of his veins.

They sit in silence for a while, and there’s so much that Sicheng wants to ask him. He wants to know why Minghao keeps doing this. He wants to know what made Minghao feel so broken.

 _I have to make it go away_. That’s what Minghao said.

The words slip out before Sicheng can pull them back in, a whisper that’s still too loud.

“ _What are you doing to yourself_?”

He doesn’t expect Minghao to laugh. It’s bitter, hard and cold and it feels like a hundred doors slam shut between them.

“I stopped believing in God a long time ago,” Minghao says. His head hits the wall behind him hard and he stares up at the ceiling. “Xiu Ying always told me that God never gave up on me even after I gave up on him. She said he was just running late sometimes.”

Sicheng watches as tears start leaking out of the corners of his eyes. His hand slips back into Minghao’s hair automatically, like it’s already becoming a habit.

“God isn’t real, Sicheng. I’ve been living a nightmare too long for God to have anything to do with it, but if he _is_ real he’s definitely given up on me.”

Minghao’s breath hitches and he brings his hands up to his face. He’s crying, big broken sobs from deep in his chest. He’s gasping in air like it hurts to breathe and Sicheng can’t take it. He pulls Minghao’s head into his chest, and Minghao wraps his arms around him and cries.

Sicheng doesn’t know or care about how much time passes. He lets Minghao cry until he’s all cried out, until the front of Sicheng’s hoodie is wet with tears. Minghao pulls back, pulls his knees to his chest again and wipes his red rimmed eyes.

“My head won’t stop spinning,” he says, and he digs his nails into his wrist, starts scratching at the skin like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “I don’t want to think anymore. I can’t think anymore. _Please_.”

Sicheng hums like he knows what Minghao wants. He has an idea, but he’s more concerned with getting Minghao’s hands away from where they’re doing damage. He laces their fingers together and rests their hands on top of Minghao’s knees.

When Sicheng looks he can see blood under Minghao’s fingernails. It makes his chest burn. He can’t imagine what Minghao must be feeling, but he can see what those feelings are doing to him.

“Do you want to sleep?” Sicheng asks. He looks into Minghao’s eyes, more clear than they’ve been all night.

Minghao nods and Sicheng is about to stand and help him up when Minghao’s hands tighten against his.

“I...uh...I want to brush my teeth,” Minghao says, his voice hesitant like he thinks Sicheng will tell him he can’t. “And I really need a shower.”

Sicheng stands and pulls Minghao up with him.

“Okay,” he says, “but I’m staying in here.”

Minghao’s cheeks flush and Sicheng gives him a small smile.

“I’m not going to watch you or anything,” he adds hastily, stroking his thumb across Minghao’s hands. He wants to say _I don’t think you should be alone_ , but he knows it will sound more like he doesn’t  _trust_ Minghao to be alone.

Minghao is quiet for a long time, but eventually he nods and pulls his hands out of Sicheng’s to start unbuttoning his shirt. Sicheng watches him down to the third button before he turns away. He ignores how he can see Minghao’s movements in his periphery through the mirror. Sicheng doesn’t turn around until he hears the rush of water and the slide of the shower curtain against the rod.

Minghao stays in the shower long enough that Sicheng almost worries. He sits on the counter next to the sink, listens to Minghao’s soft breathing. Just as Sicheng thinks he might have to check on him, the water turns off.

Minghao reaches a wet hand out for a towel and Sicheng takes that as his cue to turn around again.

He doesn’t realize Minghao is next to him until their hands brush together on the counter.

Minghao has a towel slung across his hips, his hair streaming water down his chest. His body is slender but strong. Sicheng wants to tell him that he’s beautiful, but it’s not the right time. Minghao brushes his teeth twice and drinks another glass of water before he acknowledges Sicheng again.

He links their fingers together and tugs him down the hall to his bedroom, and he almost walks a straight line.

Minghao’s room is a mess. Clothes are tossed on every surface. His desk is covered in books and papers and his laptop is resting precariously between uneven stacks. His sheets are coming off the bed.

It’s poetic in a way. Minghao’s room reflects the chaos that Sicheng can see swirling around just under his skin.

It’s poetic, too, the way Minghao’s hands make their way into Sicheng’s hair, giving him no time to react before they’re kissing.

Minghao tastes like toothpaste and he smells like shampoo, everything uniquely him scrubbed away until it’s all gone. He presses against Sicheng like there’s a magnet in his chest, and Sicheng’s hands find his waist before he realizes what’s happening. Minghao moans, tightens his hands in his hair, licks across his bottom lip and that’s when Sicheng pulls away.

He moves his hands to Minghao’s shoulders. He’s still wet, his body starting to break out in goosebumps. His eyes search Sicheng in a desperate, shattered glass way.

“ _Please_ ,” Minghao breathes out. Minghao is beautiful, and Sicheng wants to give him what he’s asking for.

But Sicheng won’t add to the darkness ebbing through Minghao’s veins.

“I can’t,” Sicheng says, and Minghao recoils away from him like Sicheng hit him.

“I like you, Minghao,” Sicheng continues, looking into Minghao’s swirling eyes. “I want to kiss you again, but not now. I want you to remember. I want to know for sure that you want to.”

Minghao deflates, sits heavily on the bed and buries his face in his hands. It’s quiet for a long time.

“Are you going to leave?” Minghao mumbles out.

Sicheng walks closer and slips his hand into Minghao’s wet hair.

“Do you want me to leave?” Sicheng asks.

The answer to both questions is probably the same.

Minghao leans forward until his face is pressed against Sicheng’s abdomen. He shakes his head weakly.

“I’m staying, then,” Sicheng says.

He pulls back from Minghao just enough to slip his hoodie over his head. He drops it in Minghao’s lap and starts looking around the piles of clothes for a pair of pajama pants. He finds a pair and tosses them next to Minghao, turning so he can change.

He waits until he hears the shifting of blankets to turn around. Minghao is tucked against the wall, his arms wrapped around himself like he’s freezing, and Sicheng’s chest starts aching again. He slips into the bed next to him, on his back so Minghao can fit against his side if he wants to.

Sicheng listens for Minghao’s breathing to go deep and even, and spends most of the night rubbing his hand up and down the boy’s back.

His lips are still tingling.

 

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

 

Minghao’s eyes open and he instantly feels nauseous. He buries his face in the pillow and groans, but that kind of makes it worse. He’s never been this sick before. The past few days are a hazy blur. The last concrete thing he remembers is —

There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to remember. That’s what he’s been doing, trying desperately to forget that someone he loved so much left him alone. But it’s been a few days, and a tiny voice in his head is screaming _grow up Minghao_. In the nest of blankets and soft morning light it’s bearable, somehow. Xiu Ying died but she’s not suffering anymore. Maybe that’s not so bad.

He’s surprised to be in his own bed. He doesn’t remember coming home. He feels clean. He must have taken a shower, which is honestly for the best because he’s pretty sure it’s the first one he’s taken in a while.

He forces himself to sit up, slowly, carefully, and he’s grateful that the nausea only intensifies for a moment before dulling down to something bearable.

He looks down at the hoodie he’s wearing. It’s gray and soft and it smells kind of familiar. It’s not his. It’s not Junhui’s. It’s not even Mingyu’s, which would have been awkward and maybe a little painful because he _really_ doesn’t want Mingyu’s comfort.

There are voices drifting into his bedroom. He recognizes Junhui right away. He has a lovely voice, and sometimes when Minghao is feeling especially bad he can talk Junhui into singing for him. It’s like sipping hot tea after spending all day in the snow.

The other voice is lower, and at first Minghao thinks it’s just Wonwoo, but Junhui wouldn’t bring him over after the shit he’s pulled. They haven’t been dating long enough for that. The only way to find out for sure is to leave his bed, and the idea makes shame replace the nausea in his gut.

He really fucked up this time. He doesn’t remember what he did, but he knows it’s bad.

He gets to his feet slowly, wraps his arms around his abdomen tight, like he’ll burst open if he’s not physically holding himself together. He walks slowly. His head pounds just enough that it feels like penance.

He makes it into the kitchen doorway before the voices stop. Minghao keeps his eyes on the beige tiled floor. Whatever face Junhui is making at him...he’s not ready to see it.

Footsteps, loud and fast and he flinches because Junhui is going to smack the back of his head and scold him, tell him he’s an idiot and he’s irresponsible and —

Junhui’s arms wrap around him and he’s tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder. His hands are rubbing across Minghao’s back. They’re shaking enough that he can feel them through his hoodie.

“You scared me to death Minghao, god, I’ve never been so scared in my whole life,” Junhui says. His voice is thick with tears, and Minghao’s eyes prickle in a sympathetic response. “Are you feeling okay? Sicheng said you took something, but he wasn’t sure what.”

Sicheng.

The name rattles around the inside of Minghao’s skull, and his whole face burns.

He looks up from Junhui’s shoulder.

“I’m okay, just feeling hung over,” he answers, and Junhui’s hands cup his face and stroke over his cheeks. Minghao feels delicate. He feels like a porcelain doll that’s fallen off the shelf, cracked but not shattered, not yet.

He looks past Junhui, across the kitchen to the bar where Sicheng is sitting. He’s wearing sweatpants and a plain white shirt. The hoodie is his, Minghao realizes.

Sicheng brought him home. The realization makes Minghao feel sick and he almost pushes away from Junhui to bolt to the bathroom. Sicheng saw him last night. Sicheng, this beautiful, kind man, brought him home and put him to bed. Minghao gets a flash of memory, of Sicheng rubbing his back as he threw up in the street, of Sicheng facing the wall as he pulled off his clothes and stepped into the shower.

“I’m sorry,” Minghao says, and Junhui tries to shush him but the words keep falling out of his mouth. “Sicheng, I’m sorry. I keep dragging you into this. It’s so messed up. You hardly know me. I’m —”

“You’re right,” Sicheng says, cutting Minghao off. Something about his tone makes Minghao unable to continue talking. “I don’t know much about you at all, but I want to. I want you to let me know more about you. I want you to be okay.”

Minghao pulls away from Junhui, who lets him go with a final pet through his hair. He walks closer to Sicheng. His eyes are so warm. Minghao can’t believe he ever thought there was anything cold in them. He’s got dark circles, heavy like bruises, like he didn’t sleep at all. Minghao realizes he probably didn’t, probably stayed up all night to make sure Minghao was still breathing.

The surge of emotions in his chest are complicated. He feels ashamed. He feels strangely loved. He feels afraid.

He wants to be okay. He wants to let Sicheng in, and he wants Sicheng to let him in too.

He’s close enough that he could reach out and touch Sicheng. He wants to, but he doesn’t want to overstep. He can’t remember enough of last night to know if that’s okay.

“I want that too,” he says. He likes the way the words sound out in the open. His voice is soft, but he can feel the surety. He hopes Sicheng can feel it too.

They stare at each other long enough that Junhui clears his throat. Minghao turns back to him, flushing, and Junhui gives him a small but mischievous smile in return.

“You need to email your professors,” Junhui says, and Minghao sighs. “They’ll let you retake your finals if you tell them about Xiu Ying.”

He says her name softly, hesitantly, like he’s afraid it’ll set Minghao off.

Greif is strange. Minghao is learning this. He feels Xiu Ying’s absence like he’s cut off his hand, like nothing in his life will ever be the same, but it’s kind of manageable. It doesn’t feel as bad as it did when he woke up.

Maybe he’ll be okay. Maybe he can make it through this.

“Okay,” he answers, and Junhui’s eyes go shiny as he smiles.

“Soonyoung isn’t mad. No one is mad, Minghao,” Junhui says. He bites his lip and looks at the floor, and Minghao’s heart swells.  “You know I’m always here for you, right? You’re not alone even if it might feel that way.”

He loves Junhui. He’s the only person Minghao has left, now.

Minghao nods instead of answering. He looks at Sicheng again. Sicheng is scrolling through his phone, his hair hanging in his eyes. He’s so beautiful it makes Minghao’s chest ache.

“Now that the semester is over, do you think we can finally practice together?” Minghao asks.

Sicheng looks at him like he’s found the North Star. The smile that spreads across his face is stunning.

“I’d like that a lot,” Sicheng says.

Minghao gets a flash of crashing their lips together, of Sicheng pulling back. _I like you, Minghao_. That’s what he said.

Minghao wants to lose himself in Sicheng’s smile.

 

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

 

Sicheng looks away from Minghao when he hears a door open. He’s slept maybe an hour, too worried about Minghao to even shut his eyes for very long. He sits up slowly, careful not to move him around too much. Minghao rolls onto his stomach and rubs his cheek against the pillow with a soft sound.

Minghao looks peaceful, like he’s actually resting. Sicheng’s hoodie is just a little big on him, just enough that Sicheng can’t stop thinking it’s cute.

Sicheng doesn’t long for things, not really. If he wants something, he gets it. He doesn’t leave much time to want, to long. But he longs to wrap Minghao in his arms and kiss the top of his head, to see Minghao laugh, to watch him dance.

More than all those things, he longs for Minghao to be okay. The pieces he’s put together tell him Minghao’s cousin died, and that even though he knew it was coming, Minghao wasn’t ready for it. Sicheng lost a family member in the past. His grandmother died when he was five. He doesn’t remember much about her. He felt more sad seeing his mom cry than he did looking at his grandmother’s black shrouded picture.

The shuffling outside the door gets louder and Sicheng figures he might as well meet Minghao’s roommate. He eases out of the bed and opens Minghao’s door as softly as he can. He walks down the hall, toward the sounds of movement.

He hesitates in the doorway of the kitchen. This must be Junhui. He’s wearing an oversized tee shirt and sweatpants. His hair is warm and brown and sticking up here and there, like he’s been running his hands through it and now it won’t lay flat.

Junhui meets his eyes. He looks like he didn’t sleep much either.

Junhui sits down and motions for Sicheng to join him.  Before Sicheng has the chance to get comfortable Junhui throws his arms around his shoulders, rubbing his hands all over his back like he can’t keep still. It’s a weird mix of sadness and relief.

It takes all of his energy not to stiffen at the contact. He gets it, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. Jun pulls away pretty quickly and Sicheng is grateful.

“Thank you for bringing him home,” Junhui says. His voice is a little deeper in person. It’s nice. “Is he okay?”

Sicheng sighs. It’s not a question he really knows how to answer.

“He was pretty sick last night. He probably took some pills, but I don’t think he needs to go to the hospital,” Sicheng answers. It’s the only answer he has, but it’s nowhere near the answer he wants.

Will Junhui tell him, if he asks?

Junhui’s hands drum against his knees. He really can’t sit still. He sighs, and there’s a weight to it. It’s a heaviness Sicheng is sure, even after knowing him for such a short time, doesn’t suit him.

“Minghao took Xiu Ying’s diagnosis really hard,” Junhui says. His voice is soft between them. “He’s always been one of those people that tries to carry everything himself. His boyfriend broke up with him the same week that Xiu Ying went into hospice. That’s when he started doing...this.”

Sicheng knows what _this_ means. He wonders how many other times Junhui has had to find Minghao, if he’s had to clean up worse things than what Sicheng dealt with last night.

“Xiu Ying was his only family. She’s six years older but she was more like his sister than his cousin. Her being sick on top of school and working two jobs and that last resort surgery have just been too much.”

Junhui stops talking and stares into his eyes. Sicheng doesn’t know what he’s looking for.

“I haven’t known Minghao for very long,” Sicheng says, wondering if that’s what he wants to know.

He doesn’t feel like Junhui is looking for anyone to blame. No, it looks like he’s already done that.

Junhui blinks once slowly, like a cat, before looking back at the kitchen counter.

“He’s my best friend, but I haven’t been able to do a single thing right for him.”

The heaviness is back. It’s settled around Junhui’s shoulders like he’s used to it, like it’s always been there.

“I think you’ve done as much as you can,” Sicheng says. He should probably pat his shoulder or something, but he really doesn't want to. He hopes the words are enough. “You haven’t given up on him, and it sounds like a lot of other people have.”

They both freeze when Minghao walks into the doorway. He doesn’t notice Sicheng at first, and that’s better. It means Sicheng can look at Minghao from head to toe, take him in just as he is.

Minghao looks hung over. He’s a little pale, dark circles under his eyes, but he’s aware. Sicheng’s hoodie is just long enough to cover Minghao’s hands.

Junhui wraps him up, speaking too softly for Sicheng to hear. Sicheng looks at Minghao and he feels like he’s finally seeing him for the first time. Minghao, who lost someone that was kind of everyone. Sicheng tries to imagine what he would do if he was in Minghao’s shoes, if it was his mom in a hospital bed, the word terminal draped across her like a shawl.

His chest aches, and he understands Minghao’s words from last night. It’s not even a fraction of what Minghao must be feeling and Sicheng wants it gone, wants it ripped out of his chest before it spreads.

It’s strange to think that Sicheng has only known Minghao for a few months, barely long enough for Ten to stop complaining about physical therapy. There’s a part of him that feels like they’ve known each other for a long time, but it’s more like Sicheng _wants_ to know Minghao like that.

He wants it so bad he can’t breathe. Sicheng wants to smooth his hands over the cracks in Minghao’s heart, wants to be one of those sappy cliché boyfriends that chases frowns with kisses. Sicheng wants to be whatever Minghao needs him to be.

He wants to fix him, but Sicheng knows that’s not how it works.

When he asks about dance practices Sicheng’s entire world narrows down to the spark he sees just behind Minghao’s eyes, the stability of his voice. He likes the way it looks on him.

He leaves a little later, after Junhui cooks them all a breakfast that’s actually pretty good. Minghao says he’s not hungry but Junhui makes him eat a bite that has his stomach growling as soon as the food is in his mouth. Minghao’s face goes bright red and Sicheng has to hide a laugh behind his hand.

He still doesn’t eat a lot, but Sicheng figures that anything is better than nothing. He runs his hand through Minghao’s hair before he walks out the door. He doesn’t ask for his hoodie back.

Later, he’ll have to ask if Minghao remembers kissing him, if Minghao wants to kiss him again.

Sicheng is pretty sure he knows the answer, but he’s a little afraid of being wrong.

 

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

 

Minghao picks up Xiu Ying’s ashes a week after he retakes his finals. Junhui rides with him, cradles the urn in his hands while Minghao drives them two hours north to a national park with a lake. He wants it to be the ocean, but he doesn’t think Xiu Ying would care either way. He just wants her to be in the most peaceful place he can think of.

He says goodbye one last time on the shoreline. It’s sunset, and when he scatters her ashes a warm breeze carries them across the water. He feels an unbearable ache in his chest, burning like he’s drowning, but Junhui presses against his back and wraps his arms around his shoulders and he feels a little more like he can breathe.

Junhui doesn’t offer him empty words. No ‘ _she’s in a better place now’_ or ‘ _she’s watching over you’_. Junhui understands Minghao like they’ve been friends their entire lives, and he knows there are some things that don’t need words. Junhui rubs his shoulders and walks back to the car and lets Minghao be alone.

Minghao watches the sun until it’s almost gone, and when the tears come he doesn’t fight them, just cries until he can’t anymore. He starts the car and holds Junhui’s hand the entire drive back.

He quits his second job not long after, and suddenly he has more free time than he knows what to do with. He thinks about why he’s got so much time and it makes guilt claw out of a black hole in his chest.

Grief is funny like that. It’s not linear. There’s no logical start and end to it. There are days that Minghao is dancing and he thinks about Xiu Ying and he just freezes. There are days when he’s angry, when he cries, when he’s so incredibly happy he can’t stop smiling. He takes it a day at a time. It’s all he can do, really.

He talks to Sicheng about the kiss a few weeks after Xiu Ying is scattered. They’re in the studio Minghao’s crew uses. Sicheng is trying to teach him a routine and Minghao can feel how out of practice he is in the way his thighs shake. He’s sprawled out on the floor facing the mirror and Sicheng sits down next to him.

“I wanted to ask you about something,” Sicheng says. It’s quiet, a little hesitant, and Minghao is pretty sure he knows what it is.

“Ask away.”

“Do you remember anything from that night?”

Minghao is beginning to learn that Sicheng prefers getting right to the heart of things. Minghao is like that too, so it’s kind of nice.

“I remember that you wouldn’t leave when I took a shower,” Minghao says. Sicheng huffs and lays on his back next to him.

“Anything else?”

Minghao knows what he’s asking for.

“I kissed you, but you said you couldn’t,” Minghao whispers, “you said you like me.”

Minghao turns his face to the side and Sicheng is staring at him. His pupils are wide, and it makes his eyes look almost black.

“I do like you,” Sicheng breathes out between them. The air in the practice room is humid and heavy. “I’ve liked you the whole time, but I didn’t want to take advantage. I want you to be sure.”

Minghao has never been more sure of anything in his entire life. Sweat drips down the back of his neck and he shivers. He lets out a shaky breath and moves closer.

Sicheng’s eyes are trailing slowly down Minghao's face. It makes him feel hot all over when his eyes hover on his lips. Sicheng is staring, open and blatant, and Minghao feels like he can't breathe.

"I’ve liked you since the first time you took me home," Minghao finally says, and it's nice how the words settle between them. It's less like a secret than he thought it would be.  "I want to kiss you again if — if that's okay."

Sicheng gives him a soft smile, but there's heat there too, just underneath. It changes Sicheng from beautiful into something more, like a siren leading him into a rocky shoreline.

Minghao's hands cup Sicheng's face and he brings their lips together on the practice room floor.

Sicheng's lips are too soft to be real. Minghao breathes out harsh through his nose and presses closer, bringing their bodies together in a line. Sicheng's lips move against his like they've kissed a thousand times, easy and practiced. His tongue teases Minghao's lower lip and he groans, meeting Sicheng in the middle.

Sicheng's body is burning against his, and he wants.

He wants everything.

Minghao tugs at Sicheng until he's hovering above him. He keeps his weight on his hands, like he's afraid he'll crush Minghao even though they're basically the same size.

Sicheng tastes like vanilla lip balm and salt, and Minghao can't get enough of it. He arches up, desperate to touch as much of Sicheng as he can, and Sicheng smiles against his lips and lowers himself down.

Time passes. Of course it does, but Minghao doesn't care how long they stay here, tangled up in each other.

He kisses Sicheng until his lungs burn, then he kisses him some more. He kisses Sicheng until he feels himself grow hard, pressed against Sicheng's thigh so tight he knows Sicheng can feel it. He groans and has to stop himself from rolling his hips up.

When they finally break apart Sicheng's lips are red. His pupils are blown and he's breathing a little hard. He looks so hot Minghao can't stand it. He's pretty sure he can feel Sicheng's cock pressing into him, too, but he doesn't want to get too hopeful.

Minghao is grinning. He wants to laugh. He kind of wants to cry, but not in a sad way. He's almost euphoric. Sicheng kisses him on the cheek and moves off of him, his body just touching Minghao's side.

They sit in silence for a while before Minghao speaks.

"So, what now?"

Sicheng looks at him, and there's a still a flicker of heat in his eyes. It sets Minghao on fire all over again.

"Do you want to keep kissing or dancing?" Sicheng asks, his mouth quirking up into a smirk.

Minghao mirrors the look.

"Why can't we do both?"

The rest of Minghao’s summer is a blur of foggy practice room mirrors, therapy sessions and the sound of cicadas, the way Junhui tugs him through the night market and the way Sicheng’s arm feels draped around his shoulders.

Junhui drags him on what he won’t stop calling a double date to an end of summer festival. He runs off with Wonwoo after half an hour, and Sicheng and Minghao are left alone. They aren’t on a date. They aren’t dating, not exactly. Minghao is sure it’s heading in that direction, but neither of them have felt the need to put a label on what they’re doing.

They end up at the edge of a river. There are paper lanterns floating down the water and Sicheng walks a little ahead of him just as the fireworks begin. They whistle through the air and burst in every color imaginable, leaving the smell of gunpowder in their wake.

The fireworks burst in the sky behind Sicheng and frame him in the most beautiful light.

He looks ethereal.

He’s beautiful.

Minghao might be in love with him.

Minghao leans forward and kisses him, just a press of lips, before turning so Sicheng is pressed against his back.

Sicheng’s arms wrap around his shoulders and they stay like that, like they’re the only two people in the world, until long after the fireworks are over.

 

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

 

Sicheng’s summer is a blur of foggy practice room mirrors. He dances with Minghao, finally gets to see what he can do, and when they do a small routine together he can’t stop staring at the fluid lines of Minghao’s body as they play back the recording.

He dances with Ten, or it’s more that Ten comes to the practice room with him and watches his movements with skills that far outweigh his years. Ten always knows how to push him, how to stretch the limits of what he thinks he can do and prove him wrong. Ten’s physical therapist says he can start doing basic moves once fall semester starts. It’s a relief for both of them.

He goes out with Minghao sometimes. Out to the movies and out to dance and out to a summer festival where Sicheng watches fireworks burst all around them but he can’t stop staring at Minghao’s profile.

Minghao is better, but he’s not all better.

Minghao has so much less to deal with that it should be a relief, but all the free time eats away at him. Sicheng doesn’t really understand where the guilt comes from, but he does his best to reassure Minghao that he’s allowed to be happy even without Xiu Ying.

The new semester starts with Sicheng overloading on classes. He’s going to regret it come midterms, but he’s missed the deadline to drop any courses.

It’s like now that he knows Minghao, he sees him all over campus, but he can’t recall ever bumping into Minghao in the two years he’s been at university. It’s funny how that works.

It’s a few weeks into the semester that Minghao invites him to a house party. It’s Junhui’s boyfriend’s roommate’s friend, or something. Sicheng tries to remember the degrees of separation from Minghao to the invite, but it keeps slipping his mind. Either way, Minghao wants to go and Sicheng has never been good at saying no to him.

It turns out that Jeonghan, the boyfriend’s roommate’s friend, lives in a huge old house with about six other guys and it seems suspiciously like a frat house, but when he asks Minghao about it he just snorts and shakes his head.

There’s a period of time where Minghao goes off by himself. Sicheng doesn't mind. He's not a social butterfly by any means but he's able to make small talk with some people until Minghao gets back.

They end up sitting in a circle playing ring of fire. It’s one of those games designed to get all players hammered, and Sicheng makes it through three drinks before they even finish the game.

Minghao’s fingers keep tracing over a rip in his jeans, and every time their skin touches his mind goes blank. He’s not sure if Minghao is trying to distract him on purpose to win the game or if he just can’t stop touching him.

Wonwoo is the first one to give up. He stands up and goes a little pale before walking down the hall. He bumps into the wall hard enough that Junhui almost gets up from his spot on the floor to go after him.

Minghao’s hand inches higher on his thigh and Sicheng looks at him with raised eyebrows.

“You’re drunk,” Sicheng says, but he’s kind of drunk too.

Minghao huffs.

“I’m fine. I didn’t drink as much as you.” Minghao gives him a smug look.

Minghao's hand on his thigh feels too good, too hot against his already hot skin. The air around them changes, shifts into something electric and Sicheng grabs Minghao's hand and stands, pulling him up.

It turns out Minghao is right. It's Sicheng that sways on his feet, Minghao's hands on his waist keeping him from falling over. That’s the thing about drinking. It always hits full force once you move.

Sicheng pulls Minghao down the hall like he knows where he's going, but he hits a dead end and turns back to Minghao with a sheepish look.

Minghao rolls his eyes and pulls him back down the hall, two doors down, and knocks before opening a door and pulling him inside.

It's someone's bedroom. Sicheng doesn't know everyone that lives here, so it's hard to say whose bedroom. There's barely any light filtering in through the curtains, the streetlight outside too far away to offer any help. It's dark, dark enough that Sicheng has to let his eyes adjust, but Minghao doesn't turn the light on.

He clicks the lock and sinks to his knees, his hands gripping Sicheng's hips. It takes Sicheng longer than he wants to admit to realize what's happening.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Minghao's already got his pants open, zipper and all, and he's tugging them down his thighs.

" _Minghao_." It comes out as more of a gasp, really, because Minghao leans forward, his face pressing into Sicheng's underwear.

Minghao places messy kisses at his waistband and Sicheng feels all the blood in his body rush down.

"Want you," Minghao mumbles against his skin. "Wanna taste you, wanna feel you."

Sicheng sucks in a breath. Minghao looks so good on his knees, his cheek pressed against Sicheng's thigh, staring up at him with half-lidded eyes.

Sicheng likes Minghao, likes the time they spend together, likes kissing Minghao until he's dizzy and so hard he can barely stand it.

They haven't done this yet, but Sicheng thinks now is a good time.

But not here.

Sicheng slides a hand through Minghao's hair. He makes a little noise in the back of his throat and Sicheng is sure he's not going to last the night.

"Your place or mine?" Sicheng asks, and Minghao looks up at him with annoyance.

"Here is fine," Minghao says. He's insistent, slides a hand up Sicheng's thigh that's getting dangerously close to his dick.

Sicheng sighs. "Not here. Let's go home, please Minghao."

Minghao's hand hovers above the bulge in his underwear and he looks down. He stays that way for a while until he finally sighs and drops his hand.

"Fine," he huffs, "but you better make it up to me."

Sicheng smirks. He makes himself decent and pulls Minghao up before pressing their bodies together. He lets Minghao feel how hard he is, squeezes his ass and kisses him until Minghao is grinding against him.

When he pulls back they're both breathless.

"My roommate is home, so can we go to yours?" Sicheng asks, and Minghao grins something wicked.

He doesn't reply, just pulls Sicheng out of the room and back down the hall.

 

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

 

Fall semester starts off better than Minghao expects. He’s got a normal course load and good professors for once. He doesn’t have a single class before 10am. It’s nice, and he kind of thinks he deserves it. A few weeks in Junhui invites him to Jeonghan’s for a house party. He wants to go, wants to see people and have a good time with his friends. The problem is that one of Jeonghan’s roommates is Kim Mingyu.

Minghao doesn’t hate Mingyu. Even before therapy, he didn’t really blame Mingyu for ending things. They couldn’t give each other what they needed. It was as simple as that. At first he was hurt, and then he was mad, and it was its own little cycle of grief. He'll probably be fine seeing Mingyu again. Probably.

Minghao asks Sicheng to go with him to the party just because he wants him to be there. Sicheng agrees, not that Minghao really thought he would say no. They’d gone out drinking together a few times over the summer, and Sicheng is a lot of fun when Minghao isn’t self-destructing.

His kisses are a little messier when he's drunk, and Minghao kind of likes seeing Sicheng this way. Compared to the way Minghao feels inside he's always so in control of himself. It's kind of hot in the best way, and Minghao wants to see more of it.

He ends up leaving Sicheng by himself for a bit, wandering around the house and saying hi to the people he knows. Sometimes Minghao forgets that he knows a lot of people, and while they aren't all his close friends, they're his friends all the same.

He makes it to the kitchen before he sees Mingyu. He looks the same: same brown hair, same kind eyes, same big warm smile. He's wearing jeans and a sweater that shows off how much work he’s put in at the gym. He looks good, great even.

Mingyu catches sight of him and his smile falters just a bit. He excuses himself from the group he's talking to after a few minutes and walks over to the corner Minghao is standing in.

Mingyu is, in a lot of ways, Minghao's first love. Minghao dated people before him, but Mingyu was the first person he really considered a future with.

"Hey," Mingyu says, always the first to speak, even in this.

Minghao gives him a small smile.

"Hey."

Minghao is surprised at how small the ache in his chest is. Seeing Mingyu like this still stings, and there's a part of him that just wants to fall into his arms. But there's a bigger part of him (and yes, that part has been to therapy) that knows they aren't right for each other. That's okay though. It’s the familiarity he misses, the easy closeness that comes from dating someone. They can still be friends. Probably.

"How have you been?" Minghao asks, and Mingyu seems to relax at the question.

"I've been good. I volunteered at a daycare most of the summer so it went by really fast," Mingyu says, and Minghao can't hide how happy that makes him.

"That's great. It'll look good when you start your internship."

Mingyu is studying elementary education, and honestly there's nothing he's more suited for. He loves kids. He's a kid at heart, and it shows in the way he interacts with them. It's one of Minghao's favorite things about him.

"How are you? I uh —" Mingyu starts, and Minghao braces himself because even though it's been a few months it still makes his chest ache to hear other people say it out loud. "I heard about Xiu Ying. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I —” He pauses, looks at the ground and licks his lips before meeting Minghao’s eyes again. “I should have done things differently."

Minghao likes the way the words sound as they vibrate through the air and into his ears. It's a very palatable apology all things considered. It's...mature.

Maybe Mingyu grew up a little this summer.

Minghao sighs and is surprised to find that he's not as upset as he would have been a few months ago. In the past, he would have either lashed out or shut down.

There's a part of him that definitely _is_ mad, a part that wants to say ‘ _Damn right you should have done things differently, you left me when I needed you more than anything’_ , but he doesn’t want to fight with Mingyu. He knows things will never go back to the way they were, not completely, but he wants them to be okay.

Maybe Minghao grew up a little, too.

“Thank you,” Minghao says, “I’m okay. I miss her a lot, but I’m okay.”

He steps closer to Mingyu and lays a hand on his shoulder. Every part of Mingyu is familiar to him, but it’s different.

“It’s good to see you,” Minghao says, and Mingyu is quick to nod in that over-eager way he does. “Maybe we can meet up for coffee sometime and catch up a little?”

Minghao leaves it as open as he can. If Mingyu doesn’t want to stay in contact then he’ll just have to deal with it. He’s the one that ended their relationship, after all. Maybe he doesn’t want to see Minghao anymore.

Mingyu takes his time answering. He glances at a space above Minghao’s head and chews on his bottom lip. It’s incredibly endearing, makes Minghao want to get up on his toes and kiss his cheek, but he doesn’t.

“I’d like that,” Mingyu finally answers and Minghao’s smile is big and genuine. He lets go of Mingyu and steps away, back toward the room he left Sicheng in.

“I’ll text you sometime. When I’m free,” Minghao says. Mingyu nods and turns back to rejoin the group he’d been talking to.

It’s nice, realizing that he doesn’t love Mingyu the way he used to. That maybe he’s mended a little bit of the broken pieces inside him.

Maybe he can love someone else, if he wants to.

Minghao finds Sicheng and the two are quickly swept into a game of ring of fire, and from there Minghao whisks Sicheng into the first empty room he can find. It’s Joshua’s, if the cleanliness is anything to go by, but he really doesn’t care about anything except getting Sicheng’s pants off.

It’s been a tentative thing between them. It’s obvious how much they want each other. Every time they kiss Minghao ends up aching and breathless, Sicheng in the same shape, and tonight seems like a great time to act on the desire that’s built up between them. Minghao feels like he’s going to burst with how much he wants Sicheng.

"My roommate is home, so can we go to yours?" Sicheng asks, and Minghao can’t keep the grin off his face as he tugs them through the living room, staunchly ignoring the eyes on them.

They make it back to his apartment pretty quickly, and by the time they get there Minghao doesn’t even feel buzzed anymore.

They take off their shoes at the door and Minghao pulls Sicheng impatiently until they’re both in his room. He hopes Sicheng notices how much cleaner it is.

He falls on the bed and pulls Sicheng on top of him. He follows willingly, fitting himself between Minghao’s thighs like he belongs there. Sicheng takes a minute to stare into his eyes. He’s hesitating, giving Minghao an out in case he wants it. Sicheng is the kind of person who prepares himself for every possible outcome. It’s one of the reasons Minghao’s kind of falling for him.

“ _Please_ ,” Minghao breathes out. Sicheng closes the distance between them, settling fully on top of him and claiming his lips in a kiss that starts out gentle but heats up in no time.

Minghao is pretty sure he’s never wanted anyone as much as he wants Sicheng right now. Sicheng’s tongue traces his bottom lip and he groans, canting his hips up as their tongues slide together. He’s hot. He’s so hot and Sicheng feels so _good_ on top of him, but he kind of wants to fuck him, if Sicheng is into that. He wants whatever Sicheng will give him.

Their lips break apart and Minghao’s hands pull insistently at Sicheng’s shirt. He bites his lip and sits up enough to slip it over his head. Seeing Sicheng shirtless flips some switch in Minghao’s brain that makes him only able to think about getting Sicheng naked and under him. He’s gorgeous, strong arms and lean abs and Minghao wants to taste every inch of his skin.

He turns on his side and pulls Sicheng with him, lets his hands wander over Sicheng’s exposed body.

He pulls Sicheng’s hips forward and grinds their bodies together, buries his face in his neck to muffle the whine he lets out. He’s so turned on he doesn’t actually care how desperate he sounds.

“I wanna,” Minghao starts, his words muffled in Sicheng’s neck so he pulls back and searches Sicheng’s face instead. He starts again. “I want —”

He doesn’t let Minghao finish, just kisses him again. It’s urgent but still slow somehow and by the end of it Sicheng’s thigh is pressed between his legs, a constant delicious friction on his cock.

When they break apart they’re both panting. Minghao can’t stop staring at the way Sicheng’s chest moves with each breath.

“Whatever you want,” Sicheng says, responding to what Minghao tried to say before.

Minghao pulls at Sicheng’s belt loops and looks into his eyes. They’re so warm, god Sicheng is so _hot_.

“I want to suck you off,” he says. Sicheng groans. “I want to fuck you.”

“ _Please_ ,” Sicheng says, and oh god Minghao could never be ready for how sexy Sicheng sounds, pitched low and breathless. He unbuttons Minghao’s shirt, hands skimming over every inch of skin. The sleeves get stuck on his hands so Minghao has to tug it off the rest of the way. Sicheng takes the opportunity to nip at his neck and Minghao hisses, pressing against Sicheng’s thigh.

Minghao sits up, pulls out lube and a condom from the bottom of his nightstand and Sicheng lays on his back. He makes space for Minghao to settle between his legs like he doesn’t do it for just anyone, like Minghao is _special_ somehow, and it makes warm fondness spread through his chest.

Minghao starts at Sicheng’s mouth and kisses him all over, his lips tingling from the heat of his body by the time he makes it to the waistband of his jeans. Sicheng’s whole body is warm or maybe Minghao is just cold, but he works open Sicheng’s belt and jeans as quick as he can, desperation starting to thrum under his skin.

Sicheng just lifts his hips, lets Minghao pull everything off and then he’s there, naked and half hard on Minghao’s bed. Minghao stares down at him for a long time, long enough that Sicheng’s face starts to flush from the attention.

Sicheng is beautiful. He deserves to be worshipped, and Minghao is going to do his best.

Minghao mouths at Sicheng’s hip bones while his hands feel their way up his thighs and Sicheng sucks in a breath. His breathing speeds up the closer Minghao’s mouth gets to his cock, and by the time his tongue reaches the base Sicheng’s muscles are tensing under his hands. Minghao wants to devour him.

So he does.

He licks a line from base to tip, laps at the ridge and lets his tongue just glide over the slit before he wraps his lips around him. Sicheng’s moan is punched out, hits Minghao the same way. He puts one hand around Sicheng’s cock and the other on his hip, hoping Sicheng will keep his hips on the bed but ready just in case. When Minghao looks up Sicheng is biting his lip. He brings one of his hands down to stroke Minghao’s cheek. Minghao sinks down on his cock and Sicheng’s hand slides into his hair. He’s not gripping, not yet, but Minghao wants to make him. He wants Sicheng to come apart.

He works Sicheng’s cock further into his mouth, until he meets his hand, then a little further just to see if he can take it. Sicheng gasps and the hand in his hair starts to tighten before it stops. Minghao hums. He’s still holding back. That’s okay, though. Minghao is stubborn, if nothing else.

He comes up with a final lick across the head, Sicheng’s hand dropping from his hair. He strokes over Sicheng’s cock while he gets the lube open. The click of the cap seems loud, significant somehow.

“Are you sure?” Minghao asks, just because he needs to hear it.

Sicheng sits up enough to look at Minghao with hazy eyes, thrusts into Minghao’s hand and shudders, lets Minghao see the way his eyelids slip closed in pleasure.

“I want this. I want _you_ ,” Sicheng sighs out, and Minghao is sure Sicheng could ask anything of him and he’d do it without question.

He tightens his grip on Sicheng’s cock just to watch him shudder again before he coats his fingers in way too much lube and presses against his entrance. He takes his time, circling his finger and trailing his other hand feather light over his shaft, a slow rhythm he keeps up until Sicheng is moaning on every exhale. Only then does Minghao push inside. He sets an easy pace, waits for Sicheng to adjust to the feeling and distracts him with broad licks across the head of his cock.

Sicheng runs a hand through his hair. He’s starting to look messy. It makes Minghao hot all over, his dick pressing against his jeans insistently. He groans and adds another finger, watches Sicheng arch off the bed and twist a hand in the sheets. He’s the most beautiful person Minghao has ever seen.

He starts to stroke Sicheng’s cock faster, speeding up the fingers working inside him too. He’s being incredibly patient, waiting until Sicheng’s body betrays his calm before giving him more. He twists his fingers inside and he moans unrestrained when Minghao finally brushes past his prostate.  

Minghao becomes single-minded, his only goal to pull more beautiful sounds out of Sicheng, to see him get a little more disheveled, a little more messy.

He _really_ wants Sicheng all messy.

He slides in a third finger and makes sure to tease Sicheng as much as he can. He glides past his prostate only on occasion, slows his hand on Sicheng’s cock until he’s barely stroking him at all.

“Is it okay?” Minghao asks, letting the question come out innocent even though it’s the opposite of how he feels. Sicheng opens his eyes and looks at him. His lips are red from being bitten. His hair is off his forehead from running his hands through it so much. Minghao hits his prostate dead on and Sicheng throws his head back and moans, _keens_ , and Minghao forgets to breathe.

“I’m ready, please, _please_ ,” Sicheng moans out. He’s so close to whining, to  _begging_ Minghao to fuck him that he really can’t do anything except listen. He pulls his fingers out and wipes them on his jeans before working them off his body. He’s in a rush, desperate and hard and all he wants is to fuck Sicheng until they’re both satisfied.

He tosses his jeans off the bed and is in the middle of searching for the condom when a hand pulls at his wrist. Sicheng is looking at him with blown pupils, lip between his teeth again.

Oh.

Sicheng wants to see him.

He gets up on his knees, lets Sicheng’s eyes trace him as long as he wants. He doesn’t miss the way Sicheng’s eyes linger on his cock, hard and flushed. Sicheng takes his hand off Minghao’s wrist and strokes over him just because he wants to. His hand feels impossibly good and Minghao loses himself for a moment in the pleasure of it. He bites back a moan, only a small sound escaping him as Sicheng’s thumb presses against his slit.

When Sicheng’s hand drops away he can’t hide the shiver that wracks him. He’s so incredibly turned on. He rips open the condom and rolls it on, adds more lube and tries not to spend too much time working it over his cock.

He folds Sicheng in half because he knows he can, because he wants to kiss him while he slides into him. He’s as careful as he can be, pushes in bit at a time, eyes trained on Sicheng’s face until he’s halfway there. He kisses Sicheng after that, tangles their tongues together until he bottoms out. Sicheng is breathing fast through his nose. When they break apart, Sicheng’s eyes are screwed shut. Minghao runs his thumb over his cheek.

“Relax,” Minghao says. “Please. For me.”

Sicheng opens his eyes and lets out a deep breath.

“I’m gonna take care of you. I promise,” Minghao says, pressing a kiss to Sicheng’s temple. He hopes Sicheng knows he means it.

He reaches between them and starts stroking Sicheng’s cock and he finally, finally starts to melt into the bed.

“There you go baby, like that,” Minghao says, and he doesn’t mean to say it, but by the time he realizes it the words are already out of his mouth and Sicheng is rocking back against him a little desperately.

“ _Move_ ,” Sicheng groans out, and who is he to say no to something they both want so much.

Minghao eases out and pushes back in. Sicheng is so tight, he feels impossibly good and Minghao slides their hands together and squeezes because he kind of needs something to ground him. Sicheng’s hips work against him, and soon the two of them have a slow, easy rhythm going. Minghao buries his face in Sicheng’s neck, so overwhelmed he can’t think.

Sicheng’s hand slides down and squeezes his ass and he moans a little helplessly.

“Faster, just a little, please,” Sicheng pants out.

Minghao picks up the pace since Sicheng asked so nicely. He’s starting to feel heat coil low in his gut even though they’ve only just started. Sicheng is just..a lot. Minghao doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to seeing him like this.

Minghao adjusts his weight and slides into Sicheng faster, and is rewarded with Sicheng keening and digging nails into his lower back. He’s rewarded again with Sicheng’s low voice in his ear, nothing but a string of  _more please god_ leaving his lips. Minghao wonders then, if he can make Sicheng come untouched. He suddenly really wants to see it, so he moves back on his knees, hauls Sicheng’s hips up and _fucks_ him.

Sicheng’s moan is so loud he covers his mouth with his hand, his eyes fluttering as Minghao works into him. It hits them both by surprise, Minghao is sure.

He fucks Sicheng at the same quick but easy pace, keeps a constant pressure on his prostate, and just like that Sicheng’s hand leaves his mouth as he gasps and comes hard all over his stomach. It’s absolutely the hottest thing Minghao has ever seen and his hips speed up as he chases his own release. Sicheng is still coming but he forces his eyes open and looks at Minghao and whispers out _come for me_ and Minghao’s vision goes white with the force of his orgasm.

He’s never come so hard in his life, and once he can see again he collapses on top of Sicheng, shivering against his chest. He kisses him as soon as he can lift his head, and Sicheng sighs against his lips. It makes that warmth surge up inside him, but it’s not something he’s quite ready to put a name to.

He’s still breathless when he slides out of Sicheng, ties off the condom and tosses it in the trashcan in the corner of his room. He should probably get up and get something to clean them off with, but Sicheng pulls him half on top of him and buries his face in Minghao’s neck.

Minghao can’t stop grinning. He probably looks ridiculous, but it’s been a long time since he’s felt so happy. He runs his hand through Sicheng’s hair and listens to his breathing return to normal. He wants to ask if it was good, if Sicheng wants to do it again sometime, but he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.

Minghao’s stomach is tacky when he props up on his elbow and he has to fight to keep himself from making a face. He traces a finger up Sicheng’s arm.

“Want to shower and sleep?” he asks.

Sicheng looks at him for a long time. He’s got this look on his face that Minghao can’t place, but he’s sure he’s seen it before.

He sees it in a flash of memory, back to when Sicheng said _I like you Minghao_.

Sicheng smiles.

“I’d love that.”

Minghao likes the way Sicheng says it. He kind of wants to hear him say it again.

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

 

The weather gets cooler, the leaves change to soft oranges and reds, and Minghao is happy. He has midterms soon, but he’s not stressed the way he used to be. He’s got dance practice to help him blow off steam. He’s got Junhui and Sicheng, too.

Minghao lost a lot when Xiu Ying died. There’s still an ache that he’s sure will always be there, but it’s less, padded by all the wonderful things in his life.

Minghao walks around the quad with Sicheng sometimes. It’s nice to just spend time with him.

It happens out of nowhere.

Minghao is staring at Sicheng and suddenly he’s hit with a thought that stops him in his tracks.

Minghao wants Sicheng to meet Xiu Ying, wants it so much it takes his breath away. He wants to hear Xiu Ying’s laugh when she teases the two of them. Would she like Sicheng? Would Sicheng like her?

It’s been almost six months since her passing but Minghao is sure, more than sure, that she’d be just as taken with Sicheng as he is.

He can’t keep the smile off his face.

Sicheng gives him a look.

“What?” he asks.

Minghao squeezes their joined hands. There’s a part of him that wants to say _I love you_ , and he thinks about it. It’s not the first time he’s wanted to say it.

“I’m just happy,” Minghao says. It’s close enough to the truth that he doesn’t feel bad leaving out the rest.

Sicheng’s thumb traces over his hand.

“I used to think that I was alone,” Minghao continues. He can’t meet Sicheng’s eyes but he can feel the way they pierce into him. “I remember that I kept asking you to help me forget what was happening in my life.”

Sicheng squeezes his hand but stays quiet.

“And you _have_ helped me, but it’s better than what I wanted you to do back then. Less forgetting and more dealing with it, I guess.”

It’s funny, how Minghao feels like saying something profound.

It’s funnier that they decide on it at the same time.

“I love you —”

“I’m in love with you —”

They both look at each other with equally wide eyes. Sicheng grins and pulls him forward and kisses him. His lips are warm and soft and Minghao feels like he’s flying.

The feeling that surges through him is more blissful than the numbness he used to seek out ever could be.

In the distance, he hears the soft tinkling of wind chimes.

**Author's Note:**

> I had way too much fun writing this. It's my first time writing present tense and alternating POVs but I think it turned out pretty neat :D Thanks again to the mods for hosting this fest!! 
> 
>  
> 
> WinHao rise!!
> 
>  
> 
> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/woncheoling) // [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/tsukkitaeil)


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